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Amy
I don’t want To straighten my hair To trade my glasses for contacts To lose weight To wear trendy clothes So you can say I’m pretty I also don’t need your acceptance I just want to be left alone To drink my coffee in peace And enjoy the wind on my face Because I don’t care enough About my appearance To leave the windows up Have you realized how deprived You are And how limited to liking certain things Just to fit in When you tell yourself You’re standing out I wish you would sing Like nobody’s listening (Because they’re not) And if they are They just wish they had the courage to sing Like you’re doing And have fun In that abandoned fashion I wish you would dance Even though you wore the wrong shoes And it’s so hot And you don’t know these people All the more reason The blisters will heal The sweat will dry And the people will forget If they remember at all Eat the cheese The doughnuts The cake The steak Drink the liquor The cheap wine The mountain dew that’s no good for you Hold the hand Make the call Because you get one trip It’s not easy to be a nerd In a party crowd To be a gardener In a city To embrace your contentedness In a room full Of money hungry Power tripping Hustlers If only You could…
My commute to work sucks. It doesn’t suck because of roadwork, or a road that NEEDS work. It doesn’t suck because it’s choked with air pollution or that it’s an exceedingly long drive. It doesn’t suck on account of the view or a particularly narrow and windy path. It sucks because people are in a hurry and there are way too many of them. I drive through school traffic the second I leave my driveway. There are four literally on top of me, and Kings Academy on one route I take to get to the highway. If I go Boyds Creek I contend with another school. There is no way to win. Every. Single. Day. I contend with tailgaters and road rage. I don’t care to tell you I travel 10 mph over the speed limit and I always have at least one car during my journey following so closely I cannot see their headlights. It’s often I’m not even the one holding up traffic; I’m in a long line of travelers just trying to get there. It gives me major anxiety and I honestly don’t know what to do about it. There are limited places to pull off the road and let them pass, but what good does that do when there’s another one blasting up through there to take their place? I don’t know…
I hope that my words never seem disrespectful. I usually feel the need to purge and sometimes it’s about sensitive subjects. I have been labeled a sensitive soul, because I tend to cry at the drop of a hat. But in the meantime, my smart mouth is forever earning me the label of…well, you know. You’ve heard. I AM strong-willed, I have no lies to tell. I say all this because I didn’t take a picture today. It would have been disrespectful to take out my phone and snap one, no matter how badly I wanted to remember the beauty of it. I have only my words. I go to a ton of funerals. I don’t see it as morbid. I was raised up in funeral homes like some kids are raised in church. Seems like somebody all the time was dying. Holly Hills, Berry’s, Atchley’s, Rawlings, McCammon-Ammons were the ones locally that we frequented. Once I started working at the Co-op, we occasionally branched out to Newport and Morristown. College friends laying their parents to rest were sometimes surprised to see me turn up, not understanding that I was raised to comfortably attend these events. It doesn’t matter if it’s Greeneville or Cookeville or Murfreesboro. I will come. People don’t seem to understand that you don’t have to know the person who passed, you…
Have you ever been treated as an outcast? Like you were the only kid in your class who wore glasses, or had freckles or curly hair? Or maybe you were a transplant from some far away city into a rural type town. Have you ever felt like you were the only one? And so, since you didn’t have anyone to talk to, you turned to books. And in books you found others just like you, a kid who had glasses and curly hair. A kid who had divorced parents. A country kid in a city school. A kid who wanted a dog but only had two goldfish in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. You identified with these characters because they had things in common with you, and it seemed like a miracle because you were all alone until you discovered this book that appeared to be written just for you. Some kids are fortunate enough to have parents who talk to them, who pray with them, who teach them right from wrong. Some kids aren’t fearful of talking to a teacher, or a church leader, or maybe they trust a neighbor or relative with their deepest secrets and use them as a moral compass. But some kids don’t have that. Some kids only have books as friends, and as allies. Some kids only have books as a means to justify feelings or to trust with their heart. Maybe these kids use their…
Soil is one of three things, when we are evaluating pH. Acidic, alkaline, or basic. Depending on what you’re growing, you could want any one of them. You modify your soil by using lime or sulfur. But sometimes you just leave it alone and it’ll straighten itself out over time. “Hold whatcha got.” How many times have I heard those words? My earliest memories are of working on the farm, stretching fence. “Hold whatcha got,” because I wasn’t strong enough to pull any more, but I could hold what was there. I might have to bear down and dig in, but I would hold. I am stubborn as an oak when I need to be. Stubborn as a deep rooted thistle, more like, seeing as how prickly my disposition is. “Hold whatcha got.” As I grew up, of course I made friends. Sometimes it was hard to stay friends when we had a difference of opinion or new people moving in who were brighter and shinier. But if you have a good friend, you better keep them. I’m proud to say I’ve had my best friend in the whole world for thirty years now. She is definitely worth holding onto. “Hold whatcha got.” Now it was money. This is probably the most recurring mantra for holding on that I would hear in my life. I had saved, but it still wasn’…
When I say I love East Tennessee, I mean it. I love possums waddling across the road and chickens scratching in the ditch. I love roadside produce stands, how when in doubt we fry it, the sunrises and sunsets, the drone of the katydids in July evenings, the Friday night high school football pride that transitions to a love for the Big Orange, how we bleed orange from birth– if you’re raised right. I love the mountains on display at every turn, the proud mindset of all us mountain people who continue to find a way to get by. I love the lightning bugs, bringing just a little magic to twilight. I love the Junebugs too. I love a lazy Sunday anchored in a holler on the lake, and a fiddle playing breaking out at a family reunion at Metcalf Bottoms. I love the festivals celebrating every season and holiday. I love Jack in the Pulpit and the history of our hills and valleys. I love the books that pour out of people after they visit just once. I love the poetry on the tongues of every native. It’s a cadence, it’s a way of life, our storytelling is communication of our love of the land. I even love the funerals, and the hellfire and brimstone preaching. I love bats on the wing and swallows diving for skeeters. I love that you always know somebody no matter where you go. I love Girl…
I sit hereOn my ugly porch(it has multiple cracks)(and needs pressure washed)(and painted)In the duskTrying to readBut my book is dullAnd my across-the-street neighbor Is walking Up and down his driveway I have observed five tripsSo farBut I am also watching my dogWho has made four rounds of the perimeter While I have eaten OreosSo many I lost count…
His looks could be cruelThe snarl his lips makeThe cutting eyesAlways smirking And he thinks That I belong to himAs if I ever did!That he can summon me With no more than a promiseAnd I will gleefully scamperTo please him But noHe never realizedI only entertained himWhen I was boredAnd I don’t think I’ll be bored againFor I don’t believe That he could be botheredTo attend my funeral If I were to pass And even soHe will be secretly pleasedThat I wrote of him first He was a crushWe both wishedI had the loose moralsTo be so much moreAnd seal the wistful looksThat meant if only~But I couldn’t Even if he would’ve And he would’ve But then He’d just be like all the restYou were supposed to be my friendBut you could never leave well enough aloneAnd you never stopped callingAnd texting And messaging And stopping byUntil I wanted to pull my hair outAnd I let your lips say the lie That your mind had builtTo save you from yourself A pityThis oneI never thought I’d rebukeI thought it was loveFor decadesBut really you’re a cadA disappointment I held you to a higher standardWe still laughAnd remember But I don’t want to talk About the past anymore When we’re not together In the futureAnd I don’t want you anyway Because I see what you are nowAnd what you aren’t And youA tentacleYou let me goHow…
Chester’s Chronicle, Year One, Month Five and one extra dayWell, here’s where it ends, folks. The end of the road. Where we say goodbye….Princess Glitterpants has had all she can take. The Chester hairs have finally made her cross over and there’s no going back. I am, once again, up for adoption. I’m not sad. It’s not really in my repertoire of emotions. Just think– last time I was up for adoption I just had to wait a little while and then I got all this!!! I have no reason to believe it won’t be even better next time! I mean, with an attitude like mine, how could I go wrong? So I’m offering myself here first. It’s not a bidding war, I just want someone who can satisfy my requirements in the most timely fashion. My requirements are as follows: • I am only outside on perfect days. Example: under 80°, but above 50°, no rain, sleet, frost, hail, wind that would blow my Chester hairs in an unfashionable manner, and/ or snow for an extended time. Snow is fine in small increments. Rain is also acceptable if you’re willing to follow me around with a golf umbrella. (Good luck to you if the wind is blowing gale force)• Towel treatment to my toes and body if so dampened by aforementioned weather.• On the days I have to be…
I haven’t talked books with y’all in awhile. I just finished one that’s like all the rest: Devastatingly handsome guy meets girl. They fall in love. They get married. They both have brilliant, successful careers in the big city that has a small-town vibe. Guy becomes abusive. After much back and forth, girl leaves. He begs for her forgiveness and to come back. Meanwhile, girl has reunited with high school boyfriend, who is perfect in every way, wealthy, and unattached. Girl discovers she’s pregnant by dreamy, abusive, estranged husband. They try to work it out. Girl decides she’s gonna be strong and still pursue divorce. Guy is emotionally wrecked and never stops trying to win her back. The author’s note at the end said she wanted to create a strong female protagonist and show that abusive relationships aren’t always black and white. Yeah, I get that. Abusive relationships are generally created by a subtle, gentle erosion. They don’t just throw you up against the wall and break your jaw on your honeymoon. It’s a much slower process that I believe begins mentally. My problem is this. You want to create a strong female character? Well, give her a life that won’t be so great without the abusive husband. Don’t give her her own business with a strong support system of girlfriends and an understanding mom who lives…
